The Laws of Attraction
by Wildfire1980
Summary: For months she has ruled from the safety of the Iron Throne and for years, she has tried to deny what he truly means to her...until tonight.
1. Exploring the Unknown

_A library is also the place where love begins. - Rudolfo Anaya _

**-x-x-x-**

It was a cool night.

Not as cold as the north of course.

King's Landing never reached that level of frigid conditions.

But it was slowly making its way from a chilled winter to the embracing warmth of spring.

A transition she welcomed.

As did her last living dragon, Drogon.

Much like his mother, he didn't particularly care for the icy temperatures of the north.

Or the fickle ways of its people.

Nor how the worth of a foreign Queen that had sacrificed more than half of what she had acquired to save them went so unappreciated.

Being forced to watch from the sidelines as they chose another Queen to lead them in her stead.

A Queen that hid, safely tucked away in the crypts while she, still deemed unworthy, went head to head with a King that had been on the other side of the grave for centuries.

She remembers the look upon the Night King's face when he fell from Viserion's back and searched the skies, only to see Dany securely perched between Drogon's shoulders, the dragon's massive wings casting an even more oppressive doom over his approaching demise.

And with one simple word, she watched as he was engulfed in a fiery flame, Drogon extending the endurance of his lungs, as if making sure the King truly fell.

Only stopping when Viserion's dead body imploded mid-air, falling from the sky in a blue blaze of fire, like a fallen star hitting the earth.

But even then, after the threat was gone and she had secured their lives, did they still bid to be free of her.

Unmoved by her heroism.

As well as her sacrifices.

Her dragons.

Her armies.

Her friends.

Even after such losses, they still refused her and crowned another.

Then had the audacity to plead their cause for independence to her face.

A request that she initially forbade, until her Lord Commander convinced her otherwise.

Claiming that it would be wise to make an ally of them, as opposed to an enemy. That with the promise of independence, they would be more inclined to rally to her cause.

Which is exactly how she got to where she is now.

To her new home.

The Red Keep.

Possessing the title of Queen of the Six Kingdoms.

Yes, with the help of Jon Snow and the North, she gained her Kingdom, but no true alliance has yet to have been forged between the two.

Every Northman, including Jon Snow, made the tedious walk back home shortly after King's Landing fell and Queen Cersei was pronounced dead among the rubble.

The truth of his parentage never leaving his sister's lips.

…_or cousin's?_

Whatever she was to him at the time.

Now…well, now she was his wife.

As Queen Daenerys Targaryen, Protector of the Six Kingdoms remained officially unwed.

And somehow, her life as ruler of the Iron Throne just wasn't as fulfilling as she always imagined it would be.

It was a formidable job.

The daunting hours.

The constant pull of her people.

The tedious council meetings that bored her to no end.

For weeks, she had been desperate for a solace.

For a place to hide away.

A place secluded and void of interruptions.

A place she could run to when sleep evaded her.

Much like it was tonight.

Which is the very reason she had set out to her newfound refuge.

One that she imagined Ser Jorah would venture to as well, if he had ever been introduced to its engaging lure.

Despite her guard's reservations to their Queen venturing through the halls of the Keep like some inquisitive child alone, she still insisted they leave her be.

Making the tone of her command so stern, that it left no room for opposition.

Although, she had no doubt her Lord Commander would be greatly displeased if he knew how many times, she had abandoned her retinue for these little excursions of hers.

She slowly ventured down the spiral staircase, thankful that the sconces were still burning upon the walls, especially since the small candleholder in her hand did very little to alight her way.

When she reached the last step, she made her way down the large hallway.

It's towering columns of white marble only echoing the beauty of the moon's beams, as they penetrated the oversized, glass windows and danced upon the floor.

The light casting an ill-defined shade over the doors on the opposite end of the corridor, giving it a rather haunting outline.

But she was quite aware of the beauty that lied just on the other side.

As she approached, she regarded the intricate, cast iron work of black dragon wings that decorated the red, backdrop of the doors and once again, wished that she had been able to convince their gifted creator, Gendry Baratheon, to stay on as her master weaponsmith. But he felt better suited to serve her from Storm's End.

They all seemed to want to serve her from afar.

After the battle of Winterfell, she even feared that her Lord Commander would leave her, when news reached him that Lady Mormont had fallen in battle, leaving Bear Island without a ruler.

And so, she did, as she had always promised him.

She tried to give him his home back.

As much as it pained her to do so, she reinstated him as Lord of Bear Island, only to have him storm her chambers late into the evening when he had discovered what she had done.

Tossing the scroll of decree offhandedly on the table, declaring he didn't want such a title.

"Then what reward shall you have, dear Ser?"

Till this day, she remembers the look in his eyes.

A quiet yearning overlapped by an even deeper desperation.

"To remain by your side."

"But it's your home, Jorah."

"Not anymore."

He said the words with such conviction.

And yet, she knew if she had dug deeper, he might have been inclined to reveal the root of its meaning.

One that she had tried to ignore for quite some time, despite how faithfully he had proven its validity.

_She was his home. _

Even when faced with a decision that she thought would be a reprieve from his duty, a redemption of some sorts…_He still chooses her._

Much to her relief and her council's dismay.

Looking back, perhaps that's what the sinking feeling in her chest was all about.

Whenever she was faced with the prospect of losing him for good, it would always make itself known.

The weight of its burden dragging her heart down, only to discover that the promise of his continued presence was the only cure that could alleviate the pressure.

Maybe.

Just maybe, he had become her home as well.

Gently, her hands pushed the doors open, revealing the wonder that lied hidden behind their obstruction.

The vaulted ceilings decorated with painted murals of the Targaryen dynasty.

The intricate carvings of dragons within the cherry wood, as volumes and volumes of books lined its shelved walls.

The black marble floors that proudly displayed the red, three-headed dragon sigil in the middle.

The oversized hearth that rested prominently at the far end of its recess and the fire roaring within its belly.

A faint smile touched her lips.

Apparently one of the servants had become aware of her little visits and had taken it upon themselves to keep their Queen warm.

She walked deeper into the library's chamber, taking in the endless array of books.

Thankful that such beauty had not been destroyed in the battle for the Iron Throne.

Although, she did pass down the order to add several cosmetic changes to its pre-existing condition.

Changes that celebrated her heritage as the dragon heir.

Her eyes lightly skimmed over the artistry, until they stopped to her left, resting upon the sixth bookshelf.

She knew exactly where the book she sought was located.

Remembering its whereabouts during her last visit.

She closes the distance and pauses before its resting place.

Then suspiciously looks to the right and then to the left, confirming the library's vacancy.

Softly, she blew out the flame to her candle, setting the candleholder upon the side table.

Admiring how the combined light from the windows and the hearth, cast the library in a darkened state of orange and yellow shades that seemed to climb the walls.

Once certain she was alone, she quietly stood to her tiptoes, trying desperately to broaden her height, stretching her hand forth to grasp the edges of the book, only to be disheartened when she realized she was still too short to obtain it.

A revelation that caused her to sigh in frustration and take a small step back.

She eyed the library ladder attached to a completely different wall, rolling her eyes in annoyance when she realized that it would be far too heavy for her to move by herself, causing her to abandon that plan and devise another tactic.

With determination, she measured the wall with her eyes, as if sizing up the obstacle.

Refusing to be defeated.

Cautiously, she placed her foot to the bottom shelf and pushed on it a couple of times, testing its durability.

Then looked up, searching for a shelf that would provide one hand with the stability she needed, while the other reached for her book.

Once convinced that it would work, she carefully moved to step onto the shelf's edge.

"I wouldn't do that if I was you."

Daenerys jumped back, her hand flying to her chest, desperately trying to slow the pounding of her heart, as she turned to face the owner behind that graveled voice.

Only to see Jorah Mormont sitting on the opposite end of the room, with his legs crossed and a book calmly open upon his lap.

With his elbow casually resting on the arm of the chair and his cheek perched flatly against his fist.

His eyes fixed to hers with an expression that told her he had seen enough to issue such a warning against that brand of reckless stupidity.

"Seven hells, Jorah…Did you even intend to warn me of your presence?"

He only arched a brow in response, giving her body a lingering perusal.

One that made her very aware of her attire.

Or lack of it.

Her bare feet originally felt good against the cool, marble floor.

But now, she felt oddly exposed.

Especially with her choice of gown tonight and the sheer material that left nothing to her Lord Commander's imagination.

Looking back, she wished she had grabbed her robe before setting out on her little adventure.

She watches from her side of the room, as Jorah closes his book.

Then slowly rises to his feet, with book in hand as he moves closer to her, his voice light, yet accusing.

"You do realize that you forgot the most critical part of your lesson?"

Daenerys didn't even try to hide the roll of her eyes or the irritating puff of air that left her lips.

She knew what he was referring to.

Ever since the Battle of Winterfell, she always feared that the liability of losing him might present itself in such a permanent way again.

And if somehow, she could defend him, just as viciously as he does her, then the likelihood of that possibility would dwindle in size.

Which is exactly why she asked him to teach her combative lessons.

To show her how to fight just as strategically as he does.

Besides, it wasn't as pointless as Tyrion claimed it to be.

Accusing her of just wanting to wrestle around with her Lord Commander in close quarters, never understanding why she just wouldn't fuck him instead.

Always teasing her and causing Jorah to blush in the process, whenever he would say, _"If you're going to play house with Mormont, I daresay you must include the bedroom as well." _

But this was no simple, domestic house and neither one of them lived an ordinary life.

Especially her.

Being pulled on by every side of her Kingdom to marry.

With proposals ranging from Dorne to Essos.

All seeking alliances with the dragon Queen.

And yet, none of them stirred her like the man before her did.

No man ever has.

Perhaps in another place and time, she could have him.

Be with him in a way that she has spent most of her adult life being blinded too.

Like, a life, a marriage...a child or two.

Far from the prying eyes of her council and the disconcerting banter of her Hand.

"I checked my surroundings." She argued. "I have no doubt that you saw me do so."

"You did no such thing."

Her mouth immediately opened to discredit his claims, but Jorah refused her that right.

"You only checked half, as your surprise to my presence would suggest."

She tilted her chin up, shrugging her shoulders in defiance.

"And what do you intend to do about it, Lord Commander…_punish me?_"

Jorah walks toward her, his eyes darkening and his expression unreadable, then stops mere inches from her.

His body towering over hers, although she tries not to let her disadvantage show under his careful scrutiny.

She watches, as he slowly begins to move into her personal space, his body lightly brushing against hers in the process, as he places his book back into its empty slot.

Then effortlessly grabs the one she had been so determined to reach and proffers it to her.

Neither moving, nor giving up their ground.

Cautiously, she looks toward the book, but hesitates to claim it.

"You should be more observant." He softly chastises.

Her eyes snap back to his and linger far longer than her outrage should have allotted.

And he doesn't even try to hide it.

Hide the smirk that gently tugs at his lips when she snatches the book from his hand.

"I am observant." His Queen defended.

_'How dare him.'_ she angrily thought. _'He has no right.'_

And she would have brushed past him, to further prove her point.

But gods, he was standing so close, smelling vaguely of sandalwood and wine.

An intoxicating mixture that seemed to captivate her, causing her brain to get drunk off of him and lack the interest it warranted in causing such a divide.

"Are you now?"

He asks in that dangerous timbre that always seems to make her weak.

Reducing his Queen to just shaking her head in assent, no longer trusting her own voice, as his eyes search hers with an unspoken need.

And she's dimly aware of how his hand slowly moves to rest against the shelf above her head.

Or how his body shifts to one side, leaning more toward the bookcase he's cunningly backed her into.

And she tries to ignore it.

Ignore how dangerously fast her heart is beating.

How she can't seem to take her eyes off of him.

Or how the cerulean blue of her Lord Commander's eyes has turned to a much darker shade.

And how his actions seem to be all the more emboldened by whatever brand of wine he consumed before coming here.

"Then speak truly, Your Grace." His eyes drift to her lips, then back to her violet depths. "...Do you think I should leave?"

She swallows hard.

"No."

And she fully expected him to kiss her.

To take her like she has wanted him too for so long.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he just stares at her…long and thoughtful.

"Perhaps you should."

"Why?"

_Oh gods, did she really just say that out loud._

But the look on his face told her all she needed to know on that account.

"Do you intend to marry the new Lord of Highgarden?"

His question not only shocked her, but also explained the mysterious smell of wine on his lips.

Another offer from yet another Lord.

Except this one was much different.

He had journeyed to King's Landing to personally extend his proposal.

He was handsome and of noble birth.

And far closer to her age than most other suitors.

Which seemed to have her bear more worried than he had previously let on.

"Should I?"

"No."

He was far too quick to answer.

"I have to marry someone, Jorah."

"Aye, I know."

"Good, then perhaps you should rethink your stance on Lord Ricker's offer."

"Perhaps you should send Lord Ricker back to Highgarden."

She snorted a laugh. "And tell him what?"

"That you intend to marry me."

Her smile instantly faded, her eyes suddenly drawn to the marble floor.

"You shouldn't tease me about such things."

His hand softly grasps her chin, lightly turning her eyes back to his.

"I'm not joking, Khaleesi." He paused. "I would never."

Her eyes searched his.

And he was relieved to discover that she wasn't as opposed to the idea as he initially thought she would be.

In fact, she doesn't seem averse to it all.

Maybe his instincts were right.

Maybe she does truly love him.

But just never found the courage to voice it.

Or give into it for that matter.

"Tyrion would never allow it."

"To hell with Tyrion."

"…But he's Hand of the Queen."

Her argument was weak.

And she knew it.

Even more so, now that his lips were moving closer to hers.

Pausing just a mere breath away.

Waiting.

Teasing.

"Aye…but who is Queen?"

_Dammit._

That was definitely a valid point.

One that he seems to drive home the instant his lips crash against hers, successfully erasing all coherent arguments from her mind.

And with a skill she has yet to experience, his tongue gently teases her lips, until her mouth slants and opens, allowing him to deepen their kiss.

Her hands lightly slide up his chest and lock behind his neck, holding him to her, as if fearing that he'll come to his senses and retreat back within himself.

Like he's always done in the past.

Never being the one to act.

The one to change his fate and persuade her to his cause.

Just as his lips were doing right now.

And damn him for being so convincing.

For loving her this long.

And damn her, for being so blind.

For not seeing it sooner.

And damn them both, for wasting so many years.

When they could have been experiencing this level of intimacy all along.

Jorah breaks the kiss and her head drops back against the shelves, his lips kissing a hot path down her neck, to her shoulders as he softly whispers into her skin.

"Marry me, Khaleesi."

She only closes her eyes and moans in response, as he kisses his way back up her neck, to her jaw line, to her ear.

"Say yes." He silently pleads.

But she doesn't speak and his heart ceases to beat, as he backs away and sees the look in her eyes.

The fear.

The hope.

Both engaged in a dangerous battle, while his heart hanged in the balance, awaiting its fate.


	2. Burn to Ash

Laws of Attraction

Chapter 2 – "Burn to Ash"

-x-x-x-

With eyes wide and disbelieving, Daenerys' fingers briefly touch her lips.

"You're drunk?"

It wasn't really a question, but more of a statement.

One that explained the boldness of his kiss and the mystery behind his sudden proposal.

For years, they've tiptoed around the subject.

Around this unspoken force of attraction that has always existed between them.

Neither being brave enough to dive into the abyss.

To take what's been culminating beneath the dormancy of the shores to deeper waters.

She has always been too keen to ignore it and Jorah, well, he was too reserved to force the issue.

"That wasn't exactly the answer I was looking for."

"I'm afraid it's the only answer you shall have." She pointedly nodded in his direction "…especially in this state."

Jorah watches as she quickly moves away and turns her back to him.

Watches as she hugs the book, he had retrieved for her, as if her life depended upon it.

"Khaleesi," He's closer, she can tell by the proximity of his voice. "Look at me."

_No, that definitely was not the wisest course of action._

Especially now.

She needed to run.

To embrace her ignorance once again and flee the scene altogether.

But it was the timbre of his voice that stopped her.

Laced with a desperation that strategically debilitated her logic, holding her within his orbit.

The force of his gravity pulling her back to face him, as their eyes lock and begin speaking a silent language only the two of them have long understood.

She's not sure how much time passes between them.

Or how long they've been staring at each other, lost in the moment, before he reaches for her hand.

Keeping his grip loose, just in case she still wants to retreat.

"I'm not drunk."

She snorted a laugh, "Oh yes, you are."

"I had a few drinks with Ser Davos, nothing more."

"But you don't drink."

Jorah shrugged his shoulders. "No, normally I don't."

"Then why start tonight?"

He carefully regarded her.

"I think you know the answer to that."

Daenerys arched a suspicious brow.

"Lord Ricker?"

Jorah averts his gaze, breathes in and exhales deeply.

And she can tell by his expression that he's carefully trying to work his answer out.

But it appears the alcohol is laboring against him and his reply comes out sounding more egotistical, than sincere.

"I don't want to lose you to someone else."

"I'm not yours to lose." Daenerys snaps back.

"But you could be."

Her lips part in surprise, as all further objections dry up in her throat.

And suddenly the massive library feels smaller, too warm.

Too constricting to contain such an epochal moment within its walls.

Until she vaguely realizes that he's pulling her to him, his lips drawing closer to hers.

So close that she can smell the lingering, bitter scent of ale on his lips.

Only to stop short of their pursuit, when she defiantly places her newly acquired book between them.

Jorah calmly looks down at the diversion, undaunted, especially since the alcohol had emboldened him hours ago.

His night started out with Ser Davos getting an earful of his love induced, jealous confession.

Only to end, by receiving sound advice from the onion knight.

Advice that seemed to far outweigh his current predicament.

And when you mix wise counsel with large quantities of alcohol, well, a fireproof plan emerges.

_Or burns…whichever comes first. _

Now all he had to do, was convince her of that same reasoning.

His blue eyes slowly move to hers, their depths shining with reckless abandon, as he tests her resolve by pushing back against the boundaries she's clearly set in place.

And she should have slapped him.

For taking such liberties.

For actively consorting with this level of insubordination.

The instant he was brazen enough to allow his lips to graze along her jawline, lightly ghosting up to her ear.

Paralyzing her completely.

Easily subduing any mindfulness of duty that all Queens rightly ruled with.

Reducing her from a Targaryen monarch, to a woman entranced by a bear that seemed to be employing his own magic.

"Tell me that you don't love me." He pleads. "That you feel nothing, and I swear by the gods, I'll never speak of it again."

Daenerys forces herself to swallow, her breaths coming out in short gasps.

The byproduct of a lust so intense that it actually hurts, like a fire burning deep inside your belly.

And she hopes he sees it.

Sees how she's trying so hard.

Trying to be the rational one here.

But it's the proximity of his body, the intensity behind his gaze that seems to rob her of all reason.

"Tell me," he whispers softly.

"I…we…" Daenerys falters.

Her gaze making a slow perusal from his eyes to his lips.

She wanted nothing more than to claim them.

To make them hers.

To make Jorah, hers.

To stop fighting what fate had conspired.

And she wishes it could be easier.

Easier to just give in.

To fulfil a long, awaited clandestine desire.

One that she has ignored and neglected for countless nights.

For months.

For as many years as she has known him.

She wanted nothing more than to open Pandora's box and touch the forbidden that laid hidden inside.

"Khaleesi?"

The concern in his voice successfully interrupts her thoughts and suddenly she realizes, he's still waiting for her answer.

"Perhaps this is a matter I should discuss with Lord Ricker first."

Slowly, he bows his head in defeat.

Daenerys' hand gently cups his cheek, fingers lightly scratching through his beard.

"Jorah please…" She falters. "Please tell me you understand."

"I'm afraid the only thing I understand is this unorthodox pattern to entrap yourself in loveless marriages."

Her eyes widened from the insult.

"That's not fair and you know it." Jorah stepped back, roughly running his hand through his beard, as she continued. "You know what my duties require of me."

"I know what you _think _they require."

"These are sacrifices that I have to make, Jorah."

"Haven't you sacrificed enough?!" He shouted.

And just as quickly as the weather, the atmosphere changed.

The tension becoming thicker.

Almost palpable.

Like a billowing fog choking the air from their lungs.

Making it harder for either party to breathe.

To calm the pounding in their chests.

As a truth that had previously enveloped the room, slowly dissipated.

Daenerys pointed an accusing finger. "You're drunk. So, I'll forgive that one outburst."

"Aye," He argued. "That explains everything, doesn't it?"

Her brows creased dramatically.

"I'm sorry?"

"Forget the fact that I love you. That I have _always_ loved you." He ran his hand through his hair, desperate to ground his raging emotions. "Tell me, Your Grace, when will it ever be enough?"

Her eyes softened and he could visibly see the pity etched within her features.

And for the first time tonight, he wanted to throw up.

Unsure if it was the alcohol that suddenly turned his stomach…or her rejection.

No, it was definitely the rejection.

He didn't want her damn pity.

He wanted her love.

And nothing short of that would do.

Not any longer.

He didn't think his heart could sustain another day of living off the scraps that fell from her table.

"Jorah," Her fingers gently weave through his hair, caressing his ear in the process. "You are in no condition to make such declarations."

His eyes met hers, fixed and searching.

"No, but you are."

Daenerys' forehead creased in confusion.

"I'm not follow –"

"You kissed me back." He interrupted.

Her hand instantly fell to her side, her lips slightly parting, as her chest seized in its pursuit of air.

And he could see it.

See how her visage likened to that of child whom had been called out on their inner most secrets.

"Th…that's," She stuttered. "…Because I was caught off guard."

Jorah's smirk is slow, and a bit lopsided, like someone who is easily amused by a person convinced of their own lies.

"Ah, I see." Daenerys watched as her Lord Commander's eyes made a slow, decisive perusal of her body. "Fortunately, I have a remedy for that."

She swallowed hard, as her hand covered her heart, as if willing it's thundering beats into a more silent submission.

"And…" His Queen nervously cleared her throat. "And what do you propose?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "We try again."

Confidently, taking a step forward, only to have Daenerys retreat further back into the room, pausing when she bumped into the back of the sofa.

Her eyes pierced his, her voice stern. "You wouldn't dare."

But her bear wasn't deterred in his pursuit.

And before she knew it, his body was firmly pressing into hers, prying the forgotten book from her fingers as he tossed it offhandedly onto the couch.

She watched in horror, as his hands moved to either side of her, firmly gripping the back of the sofa and successfully entrapping her.

"Remember, Khaleesi, I'm drunk." He whispered, as his lips lightly ghosted over hers, teasing them into subjection. "And very…_unpredictable._"

And he could easily see the promise of a spark in her eyes.

Paying little heed to the dangers that could follow igniting such a fire.

As of this moment, he would gladly embrace the flames and burn to ash, if she so commanded it.

"We can't." She gasped.

His eyes held hers.

"You are the Dragon Queen." He breathed. "You can do whatever you please."

She closed her eyes tight.

"I can't"

Dimly aware of his hands sliding along her waist, pulling her closer to him.

If such an act was even possible.

But her Knight somehow managed to find a way in his inebriated state.

And suddenly, as her hands cautiously pressed against his chest and slowly began sliding up,

she began to make a mental note, to outlaw every last barrel of ale within her city.

It's poison too strong to combat.

Especially when consumed by a man like Jorah Mormont.

"Do you love him?"

Her eyes shoot open.

"No."

She answers way too quickly.

And with far too much conviction.

But the smile it brought to his lips was worth the major lapse in her façade.

Her hands encircled his neck, fingers lightly playing through his curls.

"I don't truly know Lord Ricker enough to love him…not like I know –"

Her sentence was left unfinished.

The answer hanging in the air.

Shining in her eyes, reflecting her conclusion like a mirror.

Jorah watched as her lips parted, her head tilting slightly back, as her hands gently nudged his lips into action.

"Stop!"

Someone shouted, as both occupants jumped apart, turning to see Tyrion Lannister glaring from the open doors.

"What are you thinking, my bear?"

"I'm thinking I should have gotten drunk sooner and saved us the trouble."

Daenerys hummed her response, "Better that you don't make a habit of it."

"What need do I have of wine, when I can get drunk off of you."


End file.
